Stony Road
When everything seems smooth
along comes the stony road,
and my path I must choose,
There's always the sidewalk
where I could skip along
like I did as a kid,
not worrying about how
the path was composed,
paved or stoned,
I'm smile and proceed along...
Now that I'm grown
I've learned to skip
my way through,
the stones in the road,
and watch through the eyes
of that child that still
lives in me.
Written by Janet Ford A Path of Understanding
Have you ever sat down near a beggar
and heard him tell you what had come to pass,
why he sits there begging on a corner
rather than out working on a job?
Have you ever walked beside a blind man
and tried to close your eyes and have him lead
your heart along a path of understanding
of what it's like to live without your eyes?
Have you put your hand on a man's shoulder,
a little person half as tall as you,
and watched his face, sorrowful and wrinkled,
crumble as he tells of cruel men's jokes?
Many walk among the weak and wounded
and blithely turn their backs and shake their heads,
thinking how they're all so strange and useless
just rubbish in a world of stronger folks.
There are some whose eyes are bright and open
who smile at all God's creatures that they see,
love springing naturally from warm hearts
in sparkling fountains of pure empathy. ByJoyce Greene Home
Stony Road
When everything seems smooth
along comes the stony road,
and my path I must choose,
There's always the sidewalk
where I could skip along
like I did as a kid,
not worrying about how
the path was composed,
paved or stoned,
I'm smile and proceed along...
Now that I'm grown
I've learned to skip
my way through,
the stones in the road,
and watch through the eyes
of that child that still
lives in me.
Written by Janet Ford
A Path of Understanding
Have you ever sat down near a beggar
and heard him tell you what had come to pass,
why he sits there begging on a corner
rather than out working on a job?
Have you ever walked beside a blind man
and tried to close your eyes and have him lead
your heart along a path of understanding
of what it's like to live without your eyes?
Have you put your hand on a man's shoulder,
a little person half as tall as you,
and watched his face, sorrowful and wrinkled,
crumble as he tells of cruel men's jokes?
Many walk among the weak and wounded
and blithely turn their backs and shake their heads,
thinking how they're all so strange and useless
just rubbish in a world of stronger folks.
There are some whose eyes are bright and open
who smile at all God's creatures that they see,
love springing naturally from warm hearts
in sparkling fountains of pure empathy.
By Joyce Greene
Home